


Save Them Troubles For Another Day

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Kinktober 2019 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dom/sub, Kinktober Day 1: Spanking, M/M, Pain Kink, Pet Names, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Sometimes, Noctis thinks too much. His brain gets too full, his heart too sick with worry.When that happens, it's time to pay a visit to Cor.





	Save Them Troubles For Another Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GwiYeoWeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/gifts).

> Dedicated to GwiYeoWeo, who remains alongside me in this tiny-ass dinghy as we frantically paddle upwards trying to produce as much of this pairing as we can get away with. Hopefully this is at least somewhat palatable.

“What do you need, Prince Noctis?”

It’s a common enough question, heard about the Citadel. From one employee to another, from one station to another,  _ do you need something, _ or  _ can I help you.  _ The words won’t cause anyone to bat an eye, if they’re listening in. 

Not that anyone’s around to do so. But Cor’s taught him to act as if someone  _ is  _ at any given point, especially when they do this outside of the playroom. It’s rare, but Cor understands, because his life is intertwined in the same regal bullshit Noctis’ is. So he gets that sometimes they don’t have time to discreetly disappear for a few hours so Cor can take him home to the playroom and make his brain stop being so shitty for a couple of days.

Sometimes, when they’re neck-deep in work for weeks on end, they have to make do with what they can find. And Cor’s given him permission -  _ if you need it that badly, come find me.  _

Noctis has planned carefully. There’s never anyone in these corridors between 4-6 PM on Tuesdays. Not even the guards. And Cor is almost always in his office, doing paperwork. Alone, except in extremely rare cases. That’s his window. Two hours he told Ignis he had to go hash some stuff out with Cor, in private, and it was Very Important Business he kept forgetting about, but oh, he needs to do it  _ now  _ while he remembers, like a good prince.

And Ignis had nodded, and smiled, and said  _ I’m proud you’re taking steps, Noctis.  _

God, if only he knew. 

“It concerns a personal matter. The one I approached you about earlier.” Those are his words, his signal of  _ I need help _ and Cor doesn’t even look up from his work, just crooks a finger for  _ in  _ and then turns it around and flicks it at the door for  _ lock and shut, please. _

It’s only once that’s done that Cor looks up, and his expression softens almost immediately. Which is pretty damn telling - Cor usually keeps the facade up until Noctis says something, but if he looks like  _ that.  _ Well. 

“Kneel,” Cor orders, and Noctis lets himself drop. It’s not graceful by any means, but it doesn’t have to be. Graceful is for when he has time, has patience, isn’t  _ snapping at the fucking seams.  _ He lets himself drop, hears his full weight hit the floor, and sees Cor’s eyebrows go up. Another tell, and a concerning one. Noctis doesn’t let it get so bad - or rather, he tries not to. But he’s been  _ forgetting  _ things lately, and tired almost always, and the stress over the midterms ate him inside out, and--

Two snaps in front of his face. Noctis stops thinking. Cor threads a hand through his hair, gentle at first, and then suddenly tightens his grip and pulls Noctis’ head back, exposing the pale arch of his neck and the collar on it.

The pain is exquisite, but it’s not nearly enough. Nothing more than a  _ tease,  _ made to take the edge off. 

“Have you touched yourself at all?” Cor asks. He strokes fingers along Noctis’ jaw, down the line of his neck and over a shoulder, sending little shivers along his body. Getting a feel for him, how much tension he’s carrying. Where it’s lingering at the worst. Where he might be hurting himself inadvertently. 

Not like the guys in the club Noctis found the first few times. No, Cor takes  _ care  _ of him. Wants to make him happy, make him feel good in all the best ways. And he trusts Cor. Always.

“No.”

“No?”

“It wasn’t what I wanted. What I needed.” It’s hard to keep in the right headspace when Cor’s touching him, but he can’t let go just yet. He hasn’t been given permission. But Gods how he wants it. Wants to earn it, that right to fly. Wants to be good and earn it.

“I will ask again, Noctis. What do you  _ need? _ ”

This is the hard part. Especially because all his life, media has told him that stuff like this is… not supposed to happen. That it’s only a few who want what he wants, who need what he needs, and they’re all broken, or sick. It’s only been after Cor’s gotten hands on him, taken him firm-like and started smashing those memories down with reassurances that he’s not broken in any way, shape or form that he’s finally started talking about what he wants.

What he needs.

So he looks Cor in the eyes and says, “Need you to hurt me, sir. Need my mind to stop-- just to stop, stop thinking, stop planning, stop worrying.”

And just like that, they’re locked into their roles in this scene now, Cor with his firm hands and dark eyes and Noctis with his soft words and quiet wishes. Cor hooks fingers beneath his collar and tugs, and Noctis goes, lets Cor lead him to the desk, where he carefully unloads everything off into the area around him without disturbing the piles, and then pulls the desk back a ways, the chair out, and sits.

“Strip,” he orders, and Noctis does, unabashed and long gone from the days of body shyness. Cor won’t hurt him, he knows. He’s alright, being as vulnerable as he is here. There’s no reason to hide.

Then he’s pulling Noctis facedown into his lap, settling his weight neatly. Noctis tries to let his body go pliant, as Cor digs fingers into the tense muscles of his back and spine, chasing some of the aches in him but not the root cause, not yet. His other hand smoothes over the scars on his back, over his hip, and finally comes to rest on his ass. Noctis does his best not to tremble with anticipation, because he’s said what he wants and Cor’s going to give it to him, going to make him feel  _ good. _

“What’s your word, sweetheart?” Cor’s voice rumbles above him. He always asks, always demands Noctis use his word if he’s at any time uncomfortable, or wants out. And unlike the men in the clubs, Cor stops. 

“Ribbon.”

“Good boy.” 

The praise warms him, bringing a sharp sense of relief with it. He’s done good - he’s  _ been good,  _ and that makes all the difference. He dares to peer up at Cor beneath his fringe, dares to whisper, “Please.” 

“As you like,” Cor reassures softly, and Noctis buries his face and  _ waits. _

The first strike of Cor’s palm against the pale globe of a single asscheek brings a sharp pain that seems to ricochet all the way up his spine and into his skull, knocking the too-loud thoughts out and into orbit. For a handful of seconds, there is blessed, peaceful  _ silence. _ Cor strikes again before the thoughts can come back, only slightly harder than the first, and Noctis begins to sink. Each strike makes heat fissure up his spine like the Stormfather himself is wielding the bolts, a fog rolling in to cloud his mind, clearing the air like the first storm of the season. Letting him breathe after god knows how long of breathing the smog.

With each repetitive strike, Cor brings fire to burn across the backs of his thighs and ass, and occasionally a dull burn as he runs a hand over his work, or rakes gentle nails down the back of his spine, as if to drag all the tension downwards. Cor takes control of him, of his body, of his thoughts, and Noctis lets him. Each bite of flesh against flesh is stronger than the last, and Noctis is grateful. Grateful, as the fog in his head thickens, deepens, and at last there is  _ nothing  _ left in his head but the silence.

Distantly, he hears Cor hum, feels a hand smooth down his spine. The same movement he made the first time he did this, after finding Noctis in a club on the outskirts of Insomnia, one willing to overlook Noctis’ fake ID and let him in. He’d been there in hopes of finding someone there to tell him what the strange itch inside him that cropped up at times  _ was  _ \- he’d tried out a few doms over the course of a couple weeks, blindly trusting, never realizing that even among such what seemed like a careful set up, there were people playing the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The last Dom he’d had before Cor had been one such man. He’d had Noctis tied and bound, blindfolded, and had been flogging him. But the pain hadn’t turned sweet, and when Noctis had spat out his safeword, there had been a pause. As if in consideration.

And then the blows had kept coming.

Cor had been there. Had worked there, for a time. Had experience as a Daddy Dom, as a Dom in general, he’d said, when he’d been cleaning Noctis off later, after untying him and gently carrying him somewhere safe. One of the boys had come running up, saying something about a Dom off his damned mind, cracking whip on a sub that had already safeworded out of the scene. Who was  _ vulnerable.  _

Cor never says what he did to the man. He doesn’t have to - Noctis knows the business he does, knows how deep that fearsome loyalty runs. How sometimes Cor’s temper kicks up, and it’s a return of his old, bratty self, with a hell of a lot more experience and the patience of age to back him. But that had been when Cor had taken him in hand, and offered to be the one to help him figure out what he wanted. What he needed. 

And Cor had found it. It hadn’t taken long, with Noctis telling him as much as he could about the situations that made the itch crop up, and Cor being as well-versed in the business as he was. He’d had Noctis in hand after a single night. The collar hadn’t been on the table originally, but some things had changed between them in the long run. It certainly wasn’t something Noctis could ever bring himself to regret.

For the moment, Cor keeps petting him, and lets Noctis drift in the void of nothingness. His cock is hard and dripping against his skin, probably ruining Cor’s pants, but it’s not an immediate worry. 

“How are you, sweet boy?” Cor asks, stroking a hand through his hair. Noctis damn near purrs. 

“S’good.” His head is floaty, and words are hard, but he tries. Gods, for Cor he’ll always try. “Voices are gone.”

“Good. And what about here?”

Noctis can’t stop a groan when Cor barely lifts a knee to rub up against his prick. Can’t stop himself grinding back, either. 

“Your call,” he whispers. It’s always up to Cor, but Cor’s told him he likes to have the reins handed to him verbally in some regards. “I’m good with whatever, honest.”

Cor hums softly, and then says, “Alright. Then I’d like to try something. All you have to do is lay there and listen.”

“Nngh?” Cor picks him up and gently deposits him on the desk. He stands, kicking back the chair, bracing an arm on either side of Noctis’ hips as he looks over him. “Whatcha got in mind?”

For a moment, Cor doesn’t say anything. Just runs hands along Noctis’ sides, over his thighs, stomach, up to his shoulders. Noctis sinks into it, lets his eyes drift shut. It’s good. 

“What a beautiful boy you are,” Cor says, and  _ oh,  _ Noctis can’t stop his body arching up just slightly. The words sink into him, burning him in a different way, and he knows, he  _ knows  _ now what Cor is aiming for. It’s worse than binding him, tying him. He’s helpless in a way he can’t stop, and he’s certainly not going to safeword out of it, because he’s not in any danger. “My sweet, gorgeous boy. So good for me.”

Noctis can practically feel himself getting harder. The burn aches, eats through bone and muscle, grips him hard and refuses to leave. Cor just keeps going.

“Good and obedient, always willing to trust me, to let me do what I want with you. What you want me to do to you. Isn’t that right? You never fight me, not here. But you fight where it counts, don’t you darling? You fight so hard for the rest of the world. Such a kind, selfless Prince you’re becoming. You’ll be gorgeous as a man - your people are going to love you. You’ll be adored by millions for your mercy and kindness, for your loyalty. You carry your duty so well. You’re amazing, Noctis. As a Prince, and one day as a King. You’re perfect.”

He’s burning. He’s fucking burning up, and tries to shield himself, but Cor just takes his arms away from his face and holds them firm, looks him dead in the eye as he keeps talking. He’s so fucking hard it  _ hurts,  _ and he wants, he wants to  _ drown  _ and not surface again--

“--think you’ve kept me waiting long enough, my beautiful boy. Come along now, take your pleasure like you deserve. Come for me, Noctis.”

The heat erupts on the order, burns, sears. He goes under, drowning and burning at once, helpless to do anything but let the tide take him. It feels like it goes on and on, forever, and he thinks he screams Cor’s name once, though whether mentally or physically it's hard to say. He comes to himself in slow waves though, and finds himself wrapped in a blanket, while Cor speaks quietly to someone. 

“--fight. It’s nothing serious, and we’ve discussed it. He’s just having a little bit of a rough time right now. He’ll be fine, Ignis.”

Ignis is here? Noctis blinks. There’s something wrong with that notion, but he can’t find it at the moment. 

“I see,” Ignis says, and sounds sad. “Then I’ll go see if I can’t find him.”

“Don’t bother. I imagine once he’s done cooling his heels, he’ll come back. In the meantime, just be patient. Give him some space. I’ve dealt with his temper more often than you have, and I say that from a place of experience. He’ll be a little fuzzy-headed for a bit, but he’ll settle quickly. You know how it is.”

“Of course. Thank you, Marshal, for looking after Noct.”

“It’s not an issue. Thank you for caring enough to come looking for him.”

The door closes after a moment, and Noctis takes that as it being safe to emerge. “Ignis was lookin’ for me?” he mumbles into Cor’s chest, as the man leans back and scoots him up a bit more. He was settled between the man’s legs, which explains why Ignis didn’t say anything about him. 

“It’s been well over two hours, apparently. He was concerned.” Cor smooths a hand down his back, and Noctis drapes himself over his shoulder, soaking up the warmth. He’s feeling a little less muzzy, but his head is still mercifully quiet. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Better than I was, by a long shot.” That’s an understatement. “Did you get off?”

“I don’t need to.” Cor kisses him, but keeps it chaste. Not like Noctis has the energy for much more than that anyhow. “I’ve told you, my pleasure is your pleasure. If I’d wanted something out of it, I’d have said so from the get-go and asked to fuck you.”

“Maybe next time?” He cracks a wide yawn, and suddenly, desperately wants his bed. Maybe after a bite to eat though, and possibly a couple bottles of water. “Nng, tired.”

“Then I think it’s time for you to head back to your rooms, little Prince.” Cor helps him find his feet - his ass stings, but it doesn’t hurt. A day or two and he’ll be right as rain. “If Ignis asks, you and I started to have a conversation, and then we had a fight. I told you to go cool your heels with a walk, and you did.”

“What was the fight about?”

“Probably something I said. Pretend I was an insensitive asshole with no heart.”

“That’s kinda impossible, Cor. Sir.”

That earns him a light swat to his hip, but all it does is make him giggle as he goes to the door. “Off with you, imp. I’ve had enough impudence for one day.”

He gets as far as the open door and a foot outside before he turns back. “Cor?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

It’s rare he says it out loud. Words are hard on the best of days, and words of affection from him usually require a bit of proverbial girding of the loins. But he’s feeling loose and free the way he rarely does, and the words tumble out in their eagerness to be spoken. 

Cor’s expression softens again, and Noctis’ heart tumbles over itself in his chest. How in the name of the Six did he get so  _ lucky?  _

“I love you too, Noctis. Now go take a nap before you fall over.”

“Aye aye.” 

He wobbles his way back to his room, where he manages to avoid Ignis, and collapses face-first into the bed. He’s out like a light in seconds.


End file.
